by N Lee Wood
“Gee, thanks,” he said dryly, forgetting himself. “That makes me feel a hell of a lot better.” Then he bit his lip nervously, not in the least relieved when she laughed.
“Don’t worry, Nate,” she said affectionately. “Your smart mouth is one of the things I like best about you.”
“My smart mouth nearly got me killed,” he said sourly.
“Ah, yes. Your smart Hengeli mouth.” Her eyes were bloodshot from the smoke, almost glowing. Dragon’s eyes. “Your world may be a burnt-out wreck, but Hengeli remains the most common universal language throughout the inhabited systems. Even the Vanar must use Hengeli to negotiate with yepoqioh. Do you know why?”
“I keep telling you, jah’nari l’amae, I’m not a linguist.”
“Because Hengeli was the first language of flight. We took our traffic vernacular with us wherever we went. It’s a wonderfully plastic, forgiving language anyone can adapt to.”
“The lingua franca of the stars,” he said dryly.
She laughed. “If you were a linguist, you’d understand the irony of what you just said.”
“I don’t need to be, Pratha Yaenida. I know damned well what I said. But other than as casual entertainment, what do you want from me?”
Her eyebrows rose slightly as she waved a bone-thin hand toward the walls of books, a fortune in gold jiggling on her wrist. “Seven hundred years of Vanar literature, culture, science, philosophy, history— all that makes us what we are—are in this room.” She nodded to her flatscreen. “The books are merely artifacts. Far more information is contained in the library archives under our feet, enough to fill a thousand rooms this size. Nearly all of it is completely unknown outside Vanar.”
He glanced around, puzzled.
“Like it not, Nathan, you are going to be my linguist,” she said, her voice flat. “You will learn not only our language, but the history and the culture, the art, the music, the mentality. Learn it well enough to help translate this work into Hengeli.” She waved a vague hand to take in the whole of the library. “You have the working understanding of the outside culture, and you will be able to make us understood where we cannot hope to explain ourselves.”
His jaw dropped. “My God,” he breathed. “You can’t be serious ...”
“It has been my own private project. I’ve devoted nearly a century and a half to it, already. Bit by bit, I’ve been exporting it, while I’ve done what I can to import new ideas. I want to expand Vanar’s influence, for us to be accepted and admired, not just feared because we are unknown. Make us understood.”
“And how do I do that?” Nathan demanded. “I have even less contact now with the outside than any other Nga’esha man in your House.” Aelgar had made it clear that Nathan would never serve at another banquet, the likelihood he would ever see anyone other than the Vanar again near zero.
“The reach of a pratha h’máy is very long, Nathan, sometimes even from beyond the grave, “ she said dryly. “You need worry only about the translations.”
“And if I refuse, you’ll have me drink myself to death?”
“Of course not,” she said contemptuously. “Your life will simply become even more interesting than it is now.”
“I’m just an overrated gardener, Yaenida! I don’t have the training, the background, I can’t do this—”
“Wrong answer. You will do this.”
The finality of her voice silenced him.
“I don’t expect you to translate everything. But you have plenty of time.” She smiled vaguely.
He stared around at the room of books in horror, feeling the weight of the databank below like an anchor sucking him down into black water. “I couldn’t finish this if I lived to be a hundred.”
“You will live far longer than that,” she assured. “As you are Nga’-esha, you’ve already begun genetic reconditioning treatments.” He stared at her, pop-eyed. “You will never get cancer or diabetes or arthritis, or go bald, for that matter. Even so, it will take the rest of your very long and healthy life to get through a fraction of it. But it’s not as if you’re going anywhere, are you?”
He leaned his elbows against the table, holding his head, palms pressed against his eyes with fingers raked into his hair. “Damn you, Yaenida,” he said quietly. “Why didn’t you just kill me? I’m already in hell.”
“You exaggerate, Nathan.”
“No. No, I don’t. Everything has been taken from me. My freedom, my education, my privacy, my future.” Now even Pratima, he didn’t dare add. “For what?” He gestured at the books around the room in despair. “This? A load of Vanar poetry and etiquette rule books? This is my life?”
Yaenida placidly smoked her pipe as Nathan hunched on his elbows, head bowed over the table. “This needn’t be completely onerous,” she said. He looked up resentfully as she spoke. “Were I to make you too unhappy, I would only be ensuring you would do the work with the minimum amount of effort, and the results would be inadequate. That is not good business.”
“If I am permitted to speak honestly,” he said sarcastically, “I can’t imagine how you could possibly make me any more miserable than I am now.”
“Perhaps not, but I might be able to make you less miserable.” She was no longer smiling. “As well as solving a temporary difficulty. You still wish to research Vanar native flora, do you not?”
For a moment, he couldn’t breathe. “Yes,” he whispered.
“And publish?”
It wouldn’t mean any tenure at a university, but at least it might give back some purpose to his life. “Yes, very much.”
“Fine, then. I’m sending you to Dravyam. The Nga’esha Estate there is smaller, but secure. The dalhitri b’ahu is a cousin and old friend, l’amae Mahdupi dva Sahmudrah ek Nga’esha. I have asked her to take over your instruction preparatory to your marriage. She is an excellent teacher, quite patient and meticulous, but you would be well advised to show her the same respect as you do me.” She grinned. “A good deal more, actually, as she may not find your charming brashness as amusing as I do.”
“Hae’m, jah’nari l’amae.”
“You may take Pratima with you, if you like.”
He didn’t trust himself to speak, and she shook her head, pleased with the reaction she’d provoked. “Pratima speaks excellent Hengeli, and you will need someone to help you. When you are not studying either Vanar or our marriage rituals, you may go where you wish on the estate, but only with Pratima or another escort at all times. You are strictly prohibited from wandering off by yourself. The estate is extensive and still in a not-fully-developed state. There should be plenty of indigenous vegetation within its confines to interest you.”
“For how long, Pratha Yaenida?”
“Until I send for you.”
He nodded, doing his best to appear the model of the compliant Vanar man.
“Don’t worry, Nathan,” she added, not in the least fooled. ”You’ll be back in time to annoy me further before I’m dead.”
XXI
THE NGA’ESHA ESTATE AT DRAVYAM WAS MUCH LARGER THAN HE’D EXPECTED, but vastly different. The small city of Dravyam itself was several kilometers away from the sprawling Nga’esha complex. It was as if a small version of the Nga’esha House in Sabtú had been lifted wholesale and dropped into the midst of the indigenous seaside jungle, only the line of the high-speed train to connect it to the rest of the civilized world.
They hadn’t taken the train, however. Nathan and Pratima had held hands like excited teenagers, staring out the windows of the private Nga’esha aircraft as the dense jungle flashed by beneath them. Their Dhikar guards seemed indifferent, deceptively relaxed.
“I’ve never been to Dravyam,” Pratima said.
“Why not? Was it forbidden?”
Pratima laughed in surprise. “No, of course not. Nothing is forbidden to Pilots on Vanar. I never had a reason before, is all.”
He squeezed her hand gently, pleased, and even under the diligent watch of the Dhikar, kissed
her.
The Dravyam estate’s dalhitri b’ahu, l’amae Mahdupi dva Sahmudrah ek Nga’esha, waited for them personally at the landing stage, two Dhikar of her own to escort her. She said nothing to Pratima, making only the most cursory nod to the Pilot, and regarded him with un-abashed curiosity. “Greetings, Cousin.”
If he understood the convoluted Nga’esha family pedigree correctly, Mahdupi Nga’esha would have been his maternal second cousin four times removed, for which there was indeed a precise Vanar term. But she had chosen to use a simpler, more casual salutation that left Nathan momentarily at a loss. After concentrating so long on who was related to whom and to what degree, this unexpected informality threw him. “I hope your stay with us is pleasant,” she said.
And short, he thought. “Tah byát, jah’nari l’amae,” he said simply with a formal bow. When he straightened, she was smiling in a way that reminded him of Yaenida, although the two women were physically very dissimilar. Stout and radiating a robust health, Dalhitri Mahdupi wore a simple cotton kirtiya over what Nathan was sure were a well-worn pair of work trousers, and none of the jewelry favored by her more fashion-conscious cousins in Sabtú.
“I’m afraid that after the liveliness of our capital city you will find Dravyam rather dull and provincial,” Mahdupi said, but her words were directed at the Nga’esha Pilot.
When Pratima said nothing, not even raising her eyes far enough to acknowledge the dalhitri, Nathan said, “I’m sure Dravyam has its compensations,” in what he hoped was his best cordial manner.
Mahdupi’s eyebrows lifted, and he worried that he’d bungled some form of Vanar grammar and accidentally said something completely different. “I’m looking forward to studying the native flora, very much,” he hastened to add nervously. Her smile broadened, but she said nothing. “With your permission, of course....”
Pratima slipped her hand into his and squeezed gently, stopping his gibbering.
Mahdupi chuckled. “Well,” she said, not unkindly, “your presence will no doubt liven up the place.”
“But hopefully not too much,” Pratima whispered to him in Hengeli once the Dalhitri Mahdupi’s back had turned.
The men’s quarters of the Dravyam estate were not anywhere near as extravagant as those in Sabtú, but the view overlooking the sea cliffs was outstanding. Steps carved into granite cliffs wound down to the rocky beaches below, and the men and women of the Dravyam estate basked in the sun or swam in the clear waters. The Vanar had introduced a modified marine life to Vanar oceans, with limited success. The moons around Vanar were too small to create any truly vigorous tides, and the water more brackish with minerals than salt. But the occasional flash of bright red and yellow shoals of tame fish would have the children scampering into the water to feed their pets.
Blue in the distance, the peaks of the Dravyam mountains cut a jagged line on the horizon. The reddish green native jungle stretched unbroken from the edge of the Dravyam estate to the foothills of the distant mountains.
The morning of his second day, Mahdupi sent for him. He’d been summoned with almost careless indifference by her senior kharvah, a handsome man with disheveled hair and work-roughed nails that made Nathan wonder what he did. Nathan had hurriedly checked his own appearance before rushing to the estate’s main hall, but then had found himself alone, the seating ledges around the room empty, and only a single well-flattened cushion in the middle of the floor. Not taking the chance he wasn’t being watched and tested, he bowed to no one and knelt at the proper distance to the vacant pillow. And waited.
The hall was smaller than that of the Nga’esha pratha h’máy in Sabtú. Massive rough-hewn timber beams supported the roof, and the plastered walls were painted a pale rose. The polished granite floor was icy under his legs. He began to worry he’d gotten it wrong, wondering if he should leave to search for Dalhitri Mahdupi when she finally showed up, seeming surprised to see him.
“Oh,” she said, walking toward him. “You’re here already.” She didn’t sit down, passing the faded cushion to hand him a box. “My cousin has instructed me to give this to you.” When he looked at her inquiringly, she nodded at it. “Well? Open it.”
Inside, he discovered compact field analysis equipment, far more sophisticated than what he’d lost on the Comptess Dovian.
“It’s a . . .” She used a word he didn’t know.
“We call it called a ‘lab kit’ in Hengeli,” he said.
Mahdupi shook her head, amused. “No, no. I mean you only get to keep it if you satisfy me with how well you learn what you need for your marriage to Kallah Changriti.”
“A bribe.” He ran his fingers over the lab kit lovingly before he looked up at her. “Then can we start the lessons now, jah’nari l’amae?”
She chuckled, and Nathan found himself liking her. “Go play with your new toys first. Pratima is waiting for you with a hoverfloat. You’re free to use it to go wherever you like, within a hundred-kilometer radius. The float won’t operate any farther than that, and it will be easier to find the two of you should I need to. Return by sundown, and you’ll find a schedule posted on your reader.”
He didn’t need telling twice. He bowed deeply, grabbed the lab kit, and nearly ran to find Pratima. She seemed as giddy as he, their relative freedom intoxicating.
“Where to?” she asked as she lifted the float from its moors.
He pointed toward the distant mountains. “That way, exactly ninety-nine point nine kilometers.”
They set down at eighty-seven point three kilometers instead, as Nathan spotted an intriguing splotch of color in a clearing in the dense forest. As he hoped, it was a meadow of svapnah, just about to flower. He walked through the knee-high plants, brushing his hands across their budding tips reverently, his fingers wet with dew.
“Fantastic,” he breathed. He turned back toward Pratima, then frowned in concern at her expression. “What is it?”
“Listen.”
He did. “To what?”
She smiled slowly. “Exactly.”
No sound other than the whisper of wind through the odd treelike plants towering above them, the dripping of rainwater from their leaves. No birds, no insects, no animal life of any kind had ever evolved on Vanar, the planet still a huge reserve of primeval flora. Terraforming had yet to spread its tendrils this far into the rain forest, none of the native plants capable of supporting alien life.
But it wouldn’t be long, Nathan thought, crouching down as he noticed a distinctly familiar grass growing between the red-green stalks of svapnah. Not even this far out into indigenous territory could he find an ecosystem not contaminated by alien species imported for centuries by the Vanar. Vanar’s native plant life, although spectacularly diverse, had yet to develop past rudimentary structures, even structures as complex as the small, plain svapnah flowers rare. The mild conditions of their environment created little evolutionary pressure. The balmy climate with little seasonal change suited such slow-growing plants . . . and provided a perfect breeding ground for such foreign competitors as this Phalaris arundinacea, an invasive, fast-growing grass that loved wet, warm weather—he could almost feel his botanist’s training clicking over in his head—needing very little in the way of soil nutrients to survive and spread, vying ruthlessly for space with the native flora.
Nathan fingered the long, slender blades of grass, strangely indignant. The injustice of his precious svapnah being slowly pushed toward extinction by common invaders boiled up in him. In a sudden burst of anger, he grabbed a handful of the grass and jerked it out of the ground. Then another, and another, clots of damp earth spraying his face, his sati, the fragile svapnah plants around him.
“Stop it, Nathan! What are you doing?” Pratima’s strong hands shook him by the shoulders, breaking his frenzy. He gasped for breath, trembling, and realized his face was wet with tears. She squatted beside him, concerned. “What’s the matter with you?”
“It doesn’t belong here,” he growled, his voice thick. “It do
es not belong here.”
“Oh, Nathan.” Pratima wrapped her arms around his shoulders, drawing his head down to her shoulder to let him weep like a child.
XXII
THE ATMOSPHERE AT DRAVYAM MIGHT HAVE SEEMED MORE RELAXED than at the main estate at Sabtú, and its dalhitri b’ahu more informal than most, but appearances could be deceiving. His lessons with Mahdupi cut into his expeditions into the forests with Pratima. Not even a dazzling plankton bloom along the coastline could persuade the dalhitri to let up on his instruction, the Vanar strangely indifferent to their own native botany.
One of the men, Rulayi, agreed to row him out on a small boat after the evening meal, the sun barely set. He watched, bemused, as Nathan dipped his collection net into the midst of the luminescent plankton, the water throbbing with silent flashes. He spent several hours out on the water, taking samples, running analyses through the lab kit, making notes. Several Dhikar waited on the beach when they returned well after dark. Rulayi didn’t appear anxious, nor did the Dhikar do more than observe as the muscular kharvah hauled the boat up onto the rocky shore before the Dhikar escorted them back to the men’s house. The next morning, Dalhitri Mahdupi didn’t mention their excursion during their lesson, her eyes shut as she lounged on the sunlit ledge overlooking the bay while he stumbled through a reading of Vanar poetry. She said nothing other than to correct his frequent mispronunciation.
When she allowed him to pause for the afternoon, he had bowed and gone as far as the arch when she said, “We are not as strict here as at my cousin’s House, but there are rules. You will follow them.”
He turned back, but she hadn’t moved from her place in the sun, her eyes still shut. “Pardon, l’amae?”
You are allowed to study your plants while you are here, Nathan Nga’esha, but you’ve been told: only with Pratima or one of the Dhikar. You are here to learn to be more Vanar, not to involve my men in your bizarre yepoqioh ways. They do not understand, and curiosity is not an attractive trait to encourage in men. You will not be warned again. Understood?”
